A New Yorker Who Shines

By

Ralph Gardner Jr.

Updated Sept. 30, 2010 12:01 a.m. ET

If salary were the arbiter of excellence, the most excellent people on earth would be hedge-fund managers, CEOs and, perhaps, movie and TV stars. While experience has proved that not universally to be the case, most of us buy into some variation of that notion, myself included. So it sometimes comes as a surprise when we run across an individual barely scratching out a living whose drive and discipline and sense of excellence rivals that of those our culture celebrates with fat bonuses and fetes at charity galas.

I'm thinking, in particular, of Jenny Gomez, who shines shoes at 77th Shoe Repair, a shoeshine shop situated at the top of the No. 6 line subway stairs just off the northeast corner of 77th Street and Lexington Avenue. It doesn't matter what condition your shoes are in when you enter the shop; by the time Ms. Gomez, 36 years old, is done performing her artistry, your stride can't resume the sidewalk without renewed pride and self-assurance.

But what may be most remarkable about her is that her impeccable standards never flag, no matter how late in the day, no matter how tired, no matter how many customers are waiting their turn to mount one of the shop's three shoeshine thrones. And with your shoes in Ms. Gomez's capable hands, you do feel as if you've assumed a throne. One can't help but experience a sense of well-being while reading "Page Six" of the shoeshine shop's New York Post and watching riders emerge from underground in waves.

ENLARGE

Jenny Gomez has worked shining shoes in the Upper East Side store 77th Shoe Repair for several years.
Daniella Zalcman for The Wall Street Journal

"Massage, massage, massage, massage—coming the shine," Ms. Gomez said, describing her technique, and referring to the way she soothes the polish into the leather. "More massage, more shine."

She arrived in the U.S. from Ecuador eight years ago, leaving behind her husband, a pharmacy manager, and two daughters, now 15 and 11. She hadn't seen them since.

"Very sad," she said, "because I need to work for the school, for everything." But she said she communicates with them nightly over the Internet. "I talk and see their faces. A little bit I talk every day. I check their homework."

A sister-in-law who preceded her in the shoeshine business spent a week teaching her the trade. Then Ms. Gomez went off and landed a job shining shoes at Penn Station, at a stand called Soleman. She worked there for five years, before moving to her current job three years ago.

She said it's a bit less hectic, but she had no complaints about Penn Station, either. "It's not too hard, compared to another work," she said of the shoeshine business, even though she admitted that by evening her fingers no longer function.

The goal is good tips—the shop pays her $20 a day but keeps the entire $3 charge for a shine—and tips depend on loyal customers. She estimates she gives between 30 and 40 shines a day. George Jaleic, 77th Shoe Repair's owner and Ms. Gomez's boss, or patron as she puts it ("He's very compassion with me," she said), is facing financial challenges of his own. He said his landlord charges him $8,000 a month. "The taxes and rent destroy my business," which was already suffering under the recession, he said. Mr. Jaleic pointed to the wall of shoeboxes behind him. The ones with the white receipts—as many as half of them, it seemed—belonged to customers who dropped off shoes to be repaired, never to retrieve them. Another threat to his business, he explained, are customers who work in Midtown or Wall Street, where the shoeshine men are willing to shine your shoes at your desk.

I thought my $3 tip was generous, but Ms. Gomez reported that it was about average. So good is her work that she has a British customer who brings several pair of shoes to be shined when he visits New York, paying as much as $125 for three pair. Others drop off their shoes in limousines, Mr. Jaleic said.

Pat Carberry, a sales manager for a medical company, whose shoes Ms. Gomez was shining Monday morning, said Ms. Gomez is the only person he lets shine his shoes. He considers it a business expense. "At the end of the day, shoes need to look clean," he said. "It's the sign of a true professional."

Male customers are more demanding than females, Ms. Gomez reported. "The ladies no like too much the shine. It's very easy, the ladies. The men like it very shine."

She works from 7:30 in the morning until 6:30 p.m., before returning to the room she rents in Queens. Sunday is her only day off. "I cook a little bit," she said. "I watch TV."

I asked her whether she goes out with friends. "Not too much friends," she said. "For me the friends is too expensive. I talk to my customers."

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